Not one proud thrill of loftier thought imparts.
Such are the conquerors of Minerva’s land,
Where Genius first reveal’d the triumphs of his hand!
LXXXVII.
For them in vain the glowing light may smile
O’er the pale marble, colouring’s warmth to shed,
And in chaste beauty many a sculptured pile
Still o’er the dust of heroes lift its head.
No patriot feeling binds them to the soil,
Whose tombs and shrines their fathers have not rear’d;